


In The Still of The Night

by Arcane_Palm



Category: Layton Brothers: Mystery Room
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, I Tried, I think Flo has a lot of potential as a character and I tried to explore that a lil, I think she has a lot of respect for Lucy, Kinda?, More like the start of one I guess?, Mostly focused on Florence, Post-Canon, Short One Shot, Sniffer is also there?, and this reflects that a lil, but not by much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26591908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcane_Palm/pseuds/Arcane_Palm
Summary: Scotland Yard is quiet, and not a thing dares to stir.Florence Sich, pouring over her work with a sigh, makes a discovery.(A piece for Day 1 of LB;MR birthday week- Favorite Side Character!)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	In The Still of The Night

**Author's Note:**

> I just learned there are songs called "Still of the Night" and "In the Still of the Nite/Night" like five minutes ago and I never knew they existed. Those aren't the inspiration for the title but like hey! maybe i'll check 'em out
> 
> Also sorry this sucks :/

There is something hauntingly serene about London at night, an indescribable calm among the lights and buildings as the city withdraws into itself. The moon, content in its reign over the drowsy denizens and dreamers, shines bright in the dark sky, proudly reflecting the light of its beloved. The air is cool as Mother Nature beckons for fall to arrive, draped in dying leaves and broken branches. Trees shake and shiver in the wind’s wake, as if in fear of another great bellow from beyond. 

In a dark room, a figure sits alone, a small cup by their side. The beverage within has a vaguely floral smell, the last breaths of fallen flowers wafting upwards lazily. A dim lamp, hanging over a stack of files, flickers with uncertainty. A box of tissues lays below, its form fluctuating with the light above.

Branches scrape against one of the room’s windows, a small, grating cacophony. The moonlight illumines the scraggly apparition shaking before the glass, leaving a monstrous, distorted shadow on the floor. But the light stretches onwards, reaching out for the darkest corners of the room. One delicate moonbeam, strained and worn, rests on a beaker, exposing the dark indigo liquid within. With a sigh, the room’s lone inhabitant takes the container, giving it a quick swirl before setting it aside. The pitiful moonlight shines on, finding a new target: a photograph haphazardly attached to a thick file with an overworked paperclip. There lies the face of an older man, a widower who loved gardening ( _almost_ as much as he loved his late wife), who perished in his own backyard.

Scotland Yard is never known to be so peculiarly silent, so devoid of action. It is a tense peace that the remaining staff dare not to dwell on, a quiet prayer for some clamor, some devilishly unbearable racket. 

Carefully handling a bloodied garden hoe, Florence Sich finds little issue with such an atmosphere. But it is _odd,_ to say the least.

_No Lucy, No “Prof?”_

She turns the tool-turned-weapon in her hand, as if searching for some unknown detail that would gloriously expose the true killer.

_The victim, Bob Wallace, seems to have been well-liked by all, according to the file. He had a rocky relationship with his daughter, but she claims the two of them were getting along well when he died..._

She taps her fingers on the desk.

_His wife, Lyra Arche Wallace, was a prominent lawyer in the area, with a clean record. Mostly. Didn’t it mention something about her being arrested when she was a teenager for trespassing? But she passed a few years back in a fire, and the old guy lived alone._

The facts of the case dissolve into nothingness, a pool of thoughts and theories. In an attempt to stay both focused and unbiased, she returns to her prior line of thinking.

_I guess Scotland Yard’s most iconic duo is working with Interpol… again._

“No wonder things are so quiet,” she quips, turning towards a round container of black powder that sat atop the table before her, pressed gently to the wall. She pauses, briefly, listening to the chirps of crickets below.

It is _interesting_ , to say the least. 

What dullness has descended upon the workplace? What has brought the detectives to something other than boredom, a fear of an obsolete nothing?

Even Florence, now holding back sniffles in spite of herself, wonders _why_ she misses the boisterous energy of that Detective Constable, that soul who managed to stay resolute in the face of anything, who never forgot to say “‘ey up” and stop for a quick chat as she passed the little forensics lab. 

And the old Prof was alright too, she’ll admit. 

But there was no denying it: the sudden appearance of one Lucy Baker changed Scotland Yard for good. Even Alfendi, in his moments of great honesty (often paired with guilt or remorse) is unafraid to remind her of this reality. 

As she turns on a bulky, aging computer, Florence pushes the thought aside. 

She hums, grabbing the vessel of onyx dust (almost the color of the night sky, she passively notes) and observing it closely.

“I wonder why the exact ingredients are _never_ disclosed? Company secrets?” 

The computer beside her sputters to life. 

_Certainly, there_ **_could_ ** _be rosin,_ **_likely_ ** _lampblack (essential now for that particular shade of midnight dreams),_ **_possibly_ ** _some graphite, or even_ _—_

The door of the forensics lab creaks open, the noise as shocking as it is sudden. The silence is done away with as the sound of clumsy footsteps grows closer, and a throat is nervously cleared.

“Hey, Florence,” a voice, uneasy yet loud, reaches her ears. “How’s the fingerprint analysis going?”

A ray of light shines out from the hallway, aligning almost perfectly with her chair. She turns, facing the light head-on. She grits her teeth as she squints into the brightness, grimacing at the silhouette standing only a few feet away. 

“Once this hunk of junk starts working, we’ll finally get some _answers,”_ she clarifies, not wanting to admit that she _may_ have been daydreaming on the job.

_Me, of all people…_

“That’s great!”

The figure grows closer, aiming to peer over her chemicals and gadgets.

“Sniffer,” she starts, catching a glint of excitement in his eyes, “how are you feeling about the case?”

In a second, the man straightens himself out, appearing proud and confident.

“It _has_ to be his daughter! Dorothy was at the crime scene, she had the motive, and her story makes no sense! I swear, when Detective Constable Baker and Inspector Layton return, I’ll ask them to _—_ ”

“Woah, woah, Sniffer. All of a sudden we’re throwing _titles_ around?”

She smirks, grabbing a tissue from the box beneath the lamp.

He grins, adjusting his glasses carefully.

“As the newest detective, I wasn’t sure if formalities were the best way to go,” he admits, looking down at his bag.

“Oh, that’s _right_ . Congrats on making your way up the ladder, _Detective Hague,_ ” she jokes, as if she hasn’t heard him express his excitement over his promotion several times before.

She clears her throat, unsure if a cough was near.

There are a lot of responsibilities that come with being a detective. She wants nothing to do with that. As she loads up the evidence database, preparing to submit the fingerprints she meticulously lifted from the hoe, her mind wanders.

_After the truth about Lawson came out, Sniffer had to step up to the plate. I wonder if he’s biting off more than he can chew..._

“And that _reminds_ me,” she adds, dispelling her doubt, “do you have the daughter’s prints?”

For a split second, the young man seems confused. Thoughts of glory and victory over the _clearly_ guilty woman have clouded his brain, and his peer’s question has finally brought him back to reality.

“Uh, _yes._ One second,” he mutters. He leans on the table, opening his bag and beginning a thorough search. Florence waits, watching as the database program gradually began searching through lists of other cases and former inmates, hoping to make some sort of connection.

“His daughter’s prints shouldn’t be in the system,” Sniffer notes, finally retrieving a small clear bag holding a small cup “but I guess it couldn’t hurt to check.” He removes the bag, offering the plastic cup to the woman. She takes it steadily, laying it down on the table before pausing to sneeze. 

She peers inside the cup, carefully removing the transplanted prints, before humming with uncertainty. She analyzes them carefully, observing the delicate loops formed by tiny ridges. Then, she looks up at the computer, clicking on the image of the crime scene prints. 

“Hey.”

She waves the detective over, pointing at the screen.

“I think we’ve got a problem,” she says plainly, showing off the prints’ prominent arches. "These are _very_ different prints."

“Well, _maybe_ the daughter faked her prints, right? Could someone do that?” 

“I suppose if they _really_ wanted to.”

A small melody, choppy and startling, flows from the computer.

**MATCH FOUND**

The two watch silently as a profile pops up.

An aged photo shows a young woman smiling mischievously into the camera, having no fear of the consequences of her crime.

“That’s… _not_ Dorothy,” the detective sighs.

With her hands folded in her lap, Florence reads the name displayed boldly on the screen:

“Lyra Arche Wallace? His wife.”

“But she’s _dead!”_

The young man hangs his head in defeat, as Florence gives him a reassuring pat on the back.

“I guess this whole thing is a little more complicated than we expected,” she admits, staring down at the portrait. “What now?”

The man beside her smiles.

“Well, _now_ you could say we’re… in the dark?”

“Shut it, Sniffer.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I hope you somewhat enjoyed this!!! I wish I could've added a bit more as far as the case went, but it was kinda a last minute story element there so that's alllll my bad. I've always wanted to write about Flo but I'm not sure if I really did her justice here, sorry!  
> Thank you for reading, I hope you're having a great day/night! :)
> 
> I also made a Tumblr pretty recently and idk if it's socially acceptable to plug but like heyyyy you can find it [here](https://arcane-palm.tumblr.com/) if you'd like! :)


End file.
